Don't Look Down- SYOT
by UltimateMaxmericaShipper
Summary: The 125th Hunger Games is about to begin, and you know what that means! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the 5th Quarter Quell. Bewarned, this may be the most awful of all. No one is safe from the Capital, so kids ages 5-25 are reaped this year. Better watch your step on this mountainous arena- it's a long way down! (SYOT CLOSED! But read anyway! : )
1. Capitol's Calling Card

**Hey guys! Guess what?! I'm starting another new story, because apparently I hate myself. But, I love, love, love y'all readers, so yah. It works out. Hahaha, the odds are ever in your favor, just not mine. Haha, see what I did there... Ok, sorry, that was horrible. I'd go sit in a corner in shame, but I'm writing this, and I really want to start this story! So here goes.**

**As said in the description, this is a Hunger Games, with a slight twist. That will be explained in the actual chapter 1 below. The form for sending in tributes is below the chapter as well, because I'd love for you to actually get a taste of my writing style. But, please submit an OC! I will be finalizing the lists when I have all the spots filled. I'd prefer to not have more than maybe one if that, so submit, submit, submit! Not all tributes will make it into the story, so please be descriptive in your forms! It helps! Take up more than one PM if needed. Thank you and enjoy!**

Chapter 1- The Capitol's Calling Card

The afternoon was bright and sunny. A light breeze tickled peoples' noses, and those with allergies that hadn't been surgically fixed by the capital suffered. Sneezing, wheezing, and coughing were heard from several members of the crowd as they stood waiting on the steps of the President's mansion. A fair few of these unfortunate people would have preferred to be inside on a day like today, but attendance on the day of the Pulling was mandatory for all of the citizens, except those on their deathbeds. So, people forged on, a great difficulty to them, because dealing with mild allergies to dust and sun is about as bad as things get in the Capitol.

Pulling Day had become an actual federal holiday in the Capitol, even since the 100th Quarter Quell. All children were released from school, and adults were given the day off. No surgeries, necessary or purely for looks, and no mail was delivered either. Hospitals, doctors' offices, everything was shut down unless it was for a life or death circumstance. Few people in the Capitol were perturbed by life or death circumstances, so Pulling Day was easily allowed to exist. Besides, today's Pulling Day was special! Today was the 125th anniversary of the Hunger Games, and the 5th Quarter Quell. Surely, the President and the Gamemakers had a special treat for the eager citizens of the Capitol for the 5th Quarter Quell.

And indeed they did. Inside the large palace, President Dove straightened his bow tie and waved his attendants away. The balcony where he would draw the card was directly in front of him, but he couldn't step on it just yet. The cameras were still finishing the big build-up to the draw. Then, he would step out, pull the stupid card out of the box, announce exactly what it said on it, and walk back inside. Then the Capitol would rejoice and make their way to parties thrown in honer of the next big Hunger Games, which was sure to be the best yet.

For all that the Capitol had, President Dove didn't understand the big deal surrounding Pulling Day. Sure, it was a new twist, but every Hunger Games was different anyway. So why did it matter if there was a twist or not? This was something that Dove had been trying to figure out ever since the 100th Hunger Games, or the 4th Quarter Quell. He had been a young boy then, only 13 years old. Dove remembered the horror he had felt watching, as that year had been a particularly vile one. To show that no one could prevail, or even hope to succeed, without the Capitol's help, there had been no training prior to the games. Tributes were reaped, taken to the Capitol, and put into the arena the very next day.

It had been horrible to watch, President Dove recalled. The kids with no experience had died in the bloodbath. There was one of the highest mortality rates of all games, with only about 7 tributes making it past the cornucopia. Then, the man-eating bats had killed 5 on the next day. That left 2 career tributes, who had only survived because they had trained their whole life. They had lasted another day, but eventually the girl from District 1 had won. What was her name? Something like Iris. Or Jade, maybe.

Dove didn't know, or particularly care. He was trying harder to forget all about that Hunger Games. He didn't have much of a problem with the idea of the Huber Games. It was just another part of his life. But the Quarter Quell annoyed him for some reason. It was just adding insult to injury to the families losing their children. But, even as President, there was nothing new that he could do about it.

Nothing, but what he was doing. Namely, step on to the balcony, be offered the card to read, and read it. That was all he could do. And that was what he did.

Cheers and clapping Rose from the audience, standing on the steps of the 5-story-mansion, far below. President Dove wasn't truly afraid of heights, but a flutter of panic surged through his chest. This was one of the first times he'd ever been on the balcony. It was reserved for important speeches only. Dove had only taken over the role of President a year ago, after his father had passed away. He had only given one speech on the balcony, an obituary to his departed father. He hadn't much enjoyed that day and was looking forward to this one even less.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he announced, faking a smile and lifting one hand to acknowledge the audience. Dove's plan was to get this speech done as fast as he could. He gave a fake smile to the attendant standing on the balcony with him when she handed him the box. He felt that he should have a speech or something, but basically everyone wanted him to pull the card out.

He reached his hand into the box, trying to keep it from shaking. He pulled out the small envelope with the word "Fifth" on it. Praying it wouldn't be too awful, he opened the letter and read:

"In the 5th Quarter Quell, to show that false securities and hopes are just illusions, the age limit has been expanded in both directions. Children between the ages of 5 to 25 will be reaped this year. Thank you, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

Dove barely got the words out. Children 5 years old! In the Hunger Games. The horrible thought swam around in his head. Even the crowd below didn't give their usual cheer. They were looking around at each other with looks of confusion, wonder, horror, and even fear.

That had never happened before.

This was going to be a hard Hunger Games to watch.

-=-Line Break-=-

Ivy McGillians watched her TV screen with her husband, Caleb, and her 5-year-old daughter Samantha. She could not believe what had just happened. The 5th Quarter Quell... What was that twist?! Let little children compete against adults! How could they do that?

Ivy knew the horror first hand. She had won her Hunger Games about 12 years back, when she was 15. That made her one of the youngest tributes ever to win. Ivy still called it more of cheating, than winning. It had been a forested arena, full of trees. She had simply known what to do, being from District 7 and all. Even still, she had seen some horrible things. Her ally, the boy from District 9, had slipped on a high branch and fallen to his death.

His screams still haunt her dreams.

But never once did she think that her daughter could be up for the reaping this year. Ivy had though she was safe. At least, for now. No one is ever safe from the Capitol, and she knows that.

But Samantha is barely 5. Her birthday was last week. She still thinks unicorns are real, and Santa lives in the North Pole, and that anything pink is magical. But now, she could be slaughtered in a game for the enjoyment of people in the Capitol.

Ivy put the little girl to sleep, trying to console herself. Samantha would only have one entry in hundreds, maybe even thousands. And maybe, even if she was called, someone older would volunteer for her. Surely, some good person would save the poor, innocent child. Ivy knew they hated when a 12-year-old was called. She heard the whispers of anger rustling through the crowd. And being 5 was so much worse! Surely, someone would volunteer.

Her family wouldn't be torn apart. And one of the tributes from 7, no matter the age, would win.

Ivy would see to that.

**Ok, people! There's the twist. I'm not sure if Samantha will be the tribute or not. I'm highly doubting it. Help me decide by reviewing yes or no. This is the female mentor from District 7, though.**

**So, few rules before the form. **

**1. No perfect characters please! I don't want someone who seems so unreal. Give them history, please!**

**2. Submit a blood bath tribute. I'm going to need about 6-7 of them. These are tributes who are killed at the cornucopia. **

**3. Don't make all your characters 5 years old, please! I don't want to kill too may little kids. **

**4. Please only review the forms if you are a guest. But, if you are a guest, you should make an account! It's fun, I promise! :)**

**5. Bloodbath tributes do not need to be as descriptive, but if I like the character, I may not kill them, so please follow the same form. **

**Form- **

_Name:_

_Nickname: _

_Gender:_

_Age:_

_District:_

_Reaped or Volunteered: _

_Occupation (if over 18):_

_Appearance (Please include height, weight, hair and eye color): _

_Personality (Don't be perfect please! BE DESCRIPTIVE!):_

_Best Traits:_

_Worst Traits:_

_Likes:_

_Dislikes: _

_Hobbies:_

_Family: _

_Friends:_

_Romantic History: _

_Open to Teaming:_

_Open to Romance:_

_Best Weapon:_

_Worst Weapon:_

_Bloodbath Tribute (Yes or No): _

_Strategy to Win:_

_What they did to Impress the Gamemakers: _

_Would They Volunteer to Save a Younger Child (if they are above 15): _

**Thank you all! I will post the final list when I have it done on here. If you liked what you read, why not follow, favorite, and comment! Pwease! It helps me a lot! I update fairly often, too! :) **

**Also, anyone who comments on the first chapter (only if you have an account) gets 1 sponser point to be used for your tribute or someone elses (you decide when final list comes out), to by items in the game such as bread, medicine, ect.**

P.S. People who follow, favorite, review, and submit get 3 points (even if there character isn't accepted).


	2. Ethical?

**Hey everyone! I told you I updated fairly regularly. Although it helps it's break... :) My brother, who helped design the arena of this game, told me I should do a scene introducing the head Gamemaker. So, here goes. He's a little... different. The Gamemaker, not my brother, I mean. Well, actually**

**Oh, and underneath, you'll find the list where I will be updating tributes that have possibly been taken. It will also be on my bio. So far, I've received 9 or so tributes! Awesome! Please submit more, and boys! Check my bio for spots open. :)**

**Shoutouts: Thank you **Zutarashipper**, **Katrace**, **countrygirl15**, **MsAir**, **Wolvesareawesome **(yes, they are!), **JaceWillcutt**, **Emmeline C. Thornbrooke**, and **DaughterofAppollo7 **for following, favoriting, reviewing, submitting, all three, or being all around awesome!**

**I'll add up the total before the games begin. Don't worry, there will be more chances, and you can still win for this one too!**

**Ok, enough talk, let's go!**

Chapter 2- Ethical?

Christoph Gray, head Gamemaker, was putting final touches on the arena when the president walked in. He mumbled to himself like normal. "So, if I put traps here, oh and there I can..." he trailed off, getting another good idea to 'spice' up the arena. He chuckled inwardly. Because his life wasn't spicy enough in this town.

Christoph somewhat detested the Capitol. He wouldn't want to live anywhere else, but still. It was so... fru fru. All the people were shallow, stuck up, and did weird things to their body. Seriously! Just yesterday he had seen a man walking around with his beard died bright pink and his mustache stuck up over his nose like a ponytail. And everywhere you looked there where people with bodies dyed. Christoph's belief was very much that if people were meant to be bright colors, they would have been born birds.

Sometimes, he wished he was a bird. Birds' lives were so much easier than his. Being a human in general was risky, but being head Gamemaker might have been the most deadly of all. Everything had to be perfect. Everything and then some. Nothing could be faulty. Nothing could be too silly, either. There went his plan for carnivorous mountain goats and fire-breathing sheep. He still thought those would have been epic.

Maybe I still will... he thought, playing around with the hologram on one of the computers. He moved one of the bridges connecting two mountains to the ground. He saw it fall and laughed. "Guess no one gets to go that way!" he chuckled. Then, he put a hologram of the bridge in it's place. It looked exactly the same, but wasn't solid. One step on it, and look out below.

He was just placing another booby-trapped bridge (this time, with spikes the speared you) when he heard a small cough. Christoph turned around to see President Dove himself, standing behind him.

"Oh, hello, sir" Christoph acknowledged the man with a nod. "I, uhh, didn't see you come in. If I had known you were coming I would have had more time to clean up around here." he gestured around the spotless room. Christoph was a bit of a neat freak when it came to, well, everything.

The president waved his hand in a 'it's fine' sort of way. "Don't worry about it, Chris. Er... may I call you Chris?"

"Well, I prefer Christoph.." the Gamemaker started to say.

"Great, Chris it is." President Dove cut him off. He didn't really care what this man wanted to be called when there were more important things at hand. "So, Chris, how is the arena this year."

"Umm... good!" Christoph answered, and decided to ignore the name thing. It wasn't like you could yell at the president anyhow. He strolled quickly to the center of the circular room, where the giant hologram of the arena lay. He motioned for his assistant, Tania, to turn it on. A soft humming like the purr of a cat echoed through the room, and the hologram appeared. "If you'll come here, Mr. President, I'll introduce you to the arena." he said.

President Dove walked over and stood next to the small, bespectacled Gamemaker. He was a good head taller than the man and much sturdier built. He guessed that was why Christoph preferred to stay in this room, rather than in the outside land. Unlike most of the other head Gamemakers, he didn't attend parties or celebrations, not even the ones the Capitol was most well known for. He'd only been seen at one party, New Year's Eve a few years back, right around the time when he'd first been promoted. Dove recalled that one of the news reporters had asked why he so rarely showed his face in public. His reply had been that, "He preferred to live in his imagination, and anyway, he was too busy designing arenas to go to parties."

This statement had been what had sealed the job offer that Dove had given him. He wasn't looking for some crazy, messed-up phony to make the arenas, who was really only in it for the fame. He had already been through two of them before he'd found Christoph. The boy, as one could call the barely 28-year-old gentleman, was down-to-earth, hardworking, and determined. Each arena was better than the next, and he'd only designed 2 (not including this one). That was one of the reasons Dove was down here. He liked seeing each new arena, maybe even adding a thing here and there. But, sadly, the other reason he was down here was not as... pleasant.

Dove looked around at the hologram projected before him. The basic idea of the arena- simple. The details- more complex than could have been though possible. One glance at it didn't look like much, but when he looked deeper he saw the ingenious of it. Ordinary things turned deadly. The basic map was tops of mountains. High mountains, meaning a slip of the foot could lead to a deadly fall. Peaks were snow covered, making it even more difficult to find. The cornucopia was on top of the highest mountain. Bridges with no handrails or banisters of any kind led to other slopes, not quite as high as the original one, but still hundreds of feet in the air. Little buildings, like mini temples or pagodas were set up on some of the mountains. Some housed extra supplies, food, and water. Others were trapped. One by the look of it would blow the entire mountain up if you stepped in it. When Christoph zoomed in to show more details, Dove could see secret tunnels leading in the mountains to other ones. One was an actual volcano, with boiling acid instead of lava. The president couldn't help but grimace at the thought of a young child falling into it.

He shook himself out of his thoughts when he realized that Christoph had asked him a question. "Yes? Sorry, my mind was... elsewhere" Dove said absentmindedly.

"Not a problem, sir. I was just wondering how you liked the arena. I, myself, am quite proud of it" Christoph said with a small smile.

Dove looked back at the arena, where small children could face their demise. He looked back at the man who had created it. "It's... nice. Perfect, actually. I would hate it, personally. Not a heights person. But, nice."

Christoph practically glowed under the compliment. "Thank you sir!" he managed to squeak. "Umm.. I did have a question, though, if it's alright."

Dove, who was more focused on that endless fall from the slippery slope, once more pulled himself out of thought. "Oh, yes, that's fine. What's wrong?"

Christoph cleared his throat, suddenly seeming to be at a loss for words. "Well, sir, it's just this new Quarter Quell. You aren't really going to let a five-year-old in here, are you?"

Dove's heart beat faster. He, himself, had been pondering the question. Surely whoever had written the card hadn't truly intended such young children. But, he couldn't stop it now. He sighed and wiped his brow. He wasn't that old, barely 50, but suddenly he felt like a much older man. "I don't believe that such a young child would be put into the arena. Family members or friends will volunteer for them."

Christoph raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Dove continued. "I choose to believe that people are good. They are just sometimes... misguided in what they believe good is. This may be one of these examples, Chris." he said, and turned to walk out the door. The walk seemed much longer, somehow.

Christoph pondered what the president had just said. "Sir?!" he questioned, "I just feel that it's a little, well, unethical to send such young children in! What if people don't volunteer for them?".

President Dove turned back around. His cool gray eyes seemed to stare right into Christoph's soul. The Gamemaker looked away quickly. Dove cleared his throat. "Well, I guess it will be a hard Hunger Games to watch then". he said, and turned back to continue walking. Then, as if thinking better, he turned to face Christoph again. "Isn't it a little unethical to send children of any ages to their death? Or anyone, for that matter? Why does age matter, really? The age of the child is not equal to their worth". With that being said, he left the room.

Christoph stood staring at the man who had just walked out. On one level, he seemed to be a pleasant, maybe even good, person. On the other, he hadn't stopped the Hunger Games yet. What was with this guy?!

Christoph shrugged. He had better things to do than bother himself with the inner workings of rulers. Now, where was he?

Ahh, yes, of course. The carnivorous mountain goats.

**Ok, so I hope you all liked the chapter! There was a little bit of my philosophy in there, so I hope you all didn't get too bored. It wasn't that long, but there wasn't much to be said. xD So, you got some foreshadowing in that chapter. See if you can find some of that, and post your predictions for what you think is going to happen in the comments! I may just use your idea if I like it (I'll give you credit, of course).**

**Character-wise, I still need:**

**D1 Male**  
><strong>D2 Male<strong>  
><strong>D3 is CLOSED<strong>  
><strong>D4 is CLOSED (and boy was that a tough one to pick xD. Everyone wants to be from Finnick's district)<strong>  
><strong>D5 possibly CLOSED<strong>  
><strong>D6 Male<strong>  
><strong>D7 is CLOSED<strong>  
><strong>D8 is CLOSED (two little kids xD. Lol, I'm not evil, they're not like 5, I swear)<strong>  
><strong>D9 Male<strong>  
><strong>D10 Male<strong>  
><strong>D11 Male<strong>  
><strong>and<strong>  
><strong>D12 Male <strong>

**I'm also going to request that please no more kids ages 8-9, and no more 17-18 year olds. I need maybe 1 or 2 more young kids, 6-7, and older people 20-25, and then tweens. Thanks! I also sorta want an assassin hired by someone in the capital... hehehe! PM if you're interested in that one before you send in the form, and we can bounce some ideas off each other.**

**If we get one or two more Districts filled, I'll try and do the first reaping by ****tomorrow****. No promises, though, but lets try! Thank you all so much!**


	3. Heaps of Reaps, Part 1

**Ok, so when you get both an assassin and a serial killer in the same story, and you start trying to figure out ways to ship them... you know you have issues. Good to know, now I don't have to wonder anymore. I can go seek therapy. :) **

**Also, here's food for thought. If it was you in the Hunger Games, and not you OC, how would you handle it? I'm assuming none of you are 7-year-old children, but if you are, well.. you probably need therapy too. Hey! Maybe there's like a groupon! I, personally, would probably be that one awkward person who just plays dead for like the entire game. Although, the great and powerful JaceWillcutt has offered to protect me, so I feel a little more confident. Comment on your strategies, I really want to know!**

**Haha, next story I can write a celebrities go to Hunger Games story! Lol, yes! Who would win?! Comment on that, too. Also, if I do, I will kill Justin Beiber at least 17 times. xD**

**Ok, so all female tribute spots are filled! We need like 9 males, though. I mean, I know girls are awesome, but still. Come on people, let's do this. Then the games can begin! **

**It killed me to do the reapings out of order, but I had to, since I need guys. When I wrote this, I had no access to internet, so any tributes sent in today were not seen. So, here are the reapings for Districts 7 and 8. I plan to have all reapings, so there will be 3-4 more chapters like this. In District 7, I had to tone down the serial killer, because he was just a little too creepy. I meant to have one more reaping, but I just couldn't manage it today. Sorry guys, but it's still a fairly long chapter. **

Chapter 3- Heaps of Reaps, Part 1

*District 7*

Willow Thorn didn't know what whose names she was expecting to be called from the reaping, but it sure as heck wasn't the ones that were. Now, here she was, standing on the stage and realizing that volunteering had been a stupid idea. If only she could go back in time and knock out her past self.

The reaping had started normally enough, even for a Quarter Quell. Actually, the fact it was a Quarter Quell didn't really effect her that much. Willow was 17, and would have been in the reaping no matter what. She didn't care much, though. She had figured if her name was called that she would go to the Capitol, show off to them, and then die like everyone else. No big deal.

That was before she had actually been stupid enough to volunteer. That was a bad move on her part, she admitted.

But, the day had started like the other 17 Willow had attended in the past. The escort of District 7, a man with dyed orange skin and hair as black as ink named Axel Babar, had started with his usual big, long speech about what an honor it was to be a tribute in the Hunger Games, especially in the year of the Quarter Quell, and blah blah blah. Willow didn't listen to most of it, anyway. It all said the same thing.

She leaned in and whispered to the girl next to her, who was one of the girls in her class at school. "That's right kids, because dying for the amusement is fun! Step right up to be grusemly murdered! Really, no takers? Hmm.. shame."

The girl next to her stifled a giggle, and Willow turned back to watch Axel strut across the stage to the bowls of names like a peacock. The image of him as a bird, fluffing up his tail feathers and trying to impress girls was too much for her. She let out an audible giggle, making everyone in the audience turn to her. She quickly tried to hide it as a weak cough, but she was pretty sure no one was fooled.

"That never happened" she muttered under her breath.

Axel went over to the bowls and announced to the crowd with an expression much like one an excited puppy would wear that ladies would come first. What a surprise, Willow thought.

He took his time fumbling through the names in the bowls. When he finally found it, he opened the small paper and yelled out the name. The last name Willow was expecting to come out of that bowl. "Samantha McGillians".

She could just see little Samy, the five-year-old Willow babysat a lot, looking very confused as the crowd parted. Her mother, Ivy, was standing on stage with tears quickly filling her eyes. Of course, she was a mentor. She knew how dangerous the Games could be.

She knew there was no chance her daughter would come back.

The crowd stirred in anger that such a young child would be taken. They had all heard the announcement for the Quarter Quell, but apparently hadn't realized that a child so young would be taken. Idiots, Willow thought. No one can ever trust the Capitol not to take a young child's life.

Ivy was crying fully now, but she made no sound as she lifted her young daughter onto the stage and put her down next to Axel. The big man towered over the little child, and Samy grew nervous, starting to bawl and attempting to hide behind her mother.

Her mother, who knew that rules were rules, pushed Samy forward gently. "No, Sam, not the time. Go, stand there and do what you're told!" Ivy told her daughter, but Willow could tell her heart was breaking.

Willow knew, having been Ivy's neighbor for over ten years, how hard Samy had been to conceive. She had so many miscarriages, brought on from her time in the arena. Even in birth, Samy had been hard, being born two weeks prematurely. But she had survived, and had been Ivy's life since that day.

And now, all her life was shattering to pieces. Willow tried to look at the scene from her point of view. Ivy had already been in the arena. She had seen more horrors than any person should have too. And now, over a decade after her Games, her young child was being taken away, with no hopes of survival.

How would it feel, Ivy wondered, if it was my child up there, and no one was doing anything about it?

At that moment, Ivy's green eyes met Willow's grey ones. There was a sadness there that she had never seen before. And something else as well. What was it?

Desperation.

Ivy's eyes flitted back to her daughter, who was now crying harder than ever. She was so little, Willow realized. She doesn't know anything that's going on. All she knows is that she's scared, and she misses her mommy, and that there's a weird guy trying to take her away.

And with that realization, Ivy called out the words she had known she was going to speak since Samy's name was called. "I volunteer as tribute!" she screamed to the crowd.

Axel gave her a smile, but it came out as more of a leer. "I see we have a volunteer." he said, in a cocky tone.

Willow walked onto the stage, not bothering to bite back the words on her tongue. She was probably already going to die, why bother holding it in. "Yes, did you miss the words 'I' and 'volunteer'."

The reaction from the audience was perfect. Half gasps and half giggles. No one had ever been so cheeky with the escort before. Knowing that the cameras were filming her with interest now, she winked at the nearest one. That'll win me some sponsors, she hoped.

Insulted, Axel went to pull the male tribute. "Gadeloth Butcher" he read off the card. Willow was pleased to note that his voice didn't have quite the cocky tone it used to.

A hulking man walked up to the stage, a hood covering most of his face. Everyone seemed to recoil slightly as he walked past them and up to the stage. Ivy picked up Samy and held her as he stepped onto the stage, and even Willow, who considered herself very brave, couldn't help but take a step back.

Axel, who was apparently smarter than he looked, stayed as far away from Gadeloth as possible, while still being able to hand him the microphone. "So, Gadeloth is it, umm... how do you feel about the Hunger Games?"

The still-hooded figure stared at Axel for a while, not speaking. His cold, black eyes seemed to stare into Willow's soul. She wished he would look away. He was just so creepy! His eyes shifted to Axel. He raised his hand, and Willow flinched. Instead of attacking her, he pulled his hood off to reveal his face.

Willow nearly threw up. Parts of his face were covered in hideous burns. Others seemed to have random patches of rotting flesh on them. The worst part was that the color didn't match. It was like he had torn other peoples' skin off and used it on his own face.

Willow really hoped that wasn't the case. Because, if it was, she was probably going to die before the Hunger Games actually began.

*District 8*

Georgia Evans watched the people on the stage without really knowing what was happening. She recognized the mayor of District 8, Donald Clark, but the other woman she didn't know. Her older sister, Belle, had told her that this was a reaping, but Georgia had never been so close up before. Usually, she stood holding her mother's hand in the back. She had always wondered why her mother had looked so nervous. And why did her siblings stand in different areas?

What was the reaping, anyway? And why had Belle looked so sad when she had told Georgia that she had to stand here this year? Georgia didn't understand what was happening. She knew that the last reaping or whatever, two kids had been called from those two bowls up there, a boy and a girl. She didn't know where they were going, but she didn't remember them coming back.

Georgia looked around at where Belle had told her to stand. She recognized some of her classmates, but many of the kids she didn't know. They all looked to be about her age, eight years old. She wondered why some of the kids looked so scared, while others were looking around curiously.

She felt a small tap on her shoulder. She turned to her right and saw a small, sandy-haired boy she recognized from around town. He gave her a small smile and whispered, "Do you know what's going on? Nobody's telling me anything!"

She smiled back, relieved someone else didn't understand either. "I don't know either. My big sister Belle wouldn't tell me."

The boy nodded. His bright eyes flicked to the stage, where the mayor and the woman were giving some kind of speech. He looked back at Georgia with a wide, gap-toothed smile. He leaned in, cupped his hand, and whispered. "I heard someone say they take you to the Capitol if your name is called!".

Georgia smiled. "I wanna go to the capital! It would be better than here, right." she said, with a small wave of the hand.

He nodded. "But I don't know why they only pick one boy and girl each year. What if your name isn't drawn, but you still want to go."

Georgia looked around to the sections where the fifteen-year-olds stood waiting, and caught her sister's blue-eyed gaze. "Be right back", Georgia whispered to the boy, and squirmed her way through the crowd until she was standing by Belle's side.

Belle looked down to find Georgia, her eyes growing wide. "Ginger, go back to your section! You could get in trouble!"

Georgia pouted, both at the nickname, and Belle's sudden bossiness. "I just had a question to ask" she said, sticking her chin out in defiance.

Sighing, Belle relented. "Fine, squirt, but make it fast. They're about to draw a name."

"Is it true they take the two people who are drawn to the capital?" Georgia asked quickly.

Belle, obviously conflicted with something, stayed quiet for a second. "Well, yes, I suppose that's true. But, it isn't like what you think." she said eventually.

Georgia looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"It's just... not, ok, Ginger. I'll explain when you're older." Belle replied. "Now, go back to your section, please!"

"Ok, but what if you wanted to go, but your name isn't called." Georgia wondered.

Belle, trying to push Georgia back to her section, answered quickly. "You would say, 'I volunteer as tribute', but please, GO BACK! NOW!"

"Ok, ok!" Georgia said, and pushed her way back to her spot next to the sandy-haired boy. She told him what her sister had said.

He looked excited, and his eyes danced. "Really! All you need to say is that!" he exclaimed.

Georgia held her finger to her lips to quiet him, but she was just as excited. She leaned in and whispered, "Yah! So, are you gonna do it?"

He nodded. "Yah! Are you?"

She looked back at her sister, and considered what Belle had said. She had told Georgia that it wasn't like she thought, but how did Belle know what she was thinking? Georgia pondered that question for a sec, and then smiled. "I'll go if you do it with me. I don't want to be alone."

He gave her a bright smile and held out his hand. "Friends?" he asked.

The woman on the stage was talking, her purple wig moving up and down as she gestured. She seemed to be finishing up her speech. Staring at the stage, not wanting to miss anything, Georgia took his hand and shook it. "Friends" she told him.

He focused on the lady as well, who was walking towards the first bowl. She made some stupid comment like, "Ladies first" and reached her manicured hand into the bowl. She took her time grabbing a slip of paper out of the bowl, before she read the name. "Megan Britte" she called. Georgia didn't recognize the name, but a large girl came out of the 18-year-old section.

Georgia took one more look at the boy next to her, who nodded encouragingly. She whispered, "See you in a second" to him, before taking a deep breath. "I volunteer as tribute!" she yelled into the silent crowd. The lady on the stage clapped her hands in eagerness, but the crowd seemed to be muttering in dismay. Georgia didn't understand. Did she do something wrong?

Georgia made her way to the stage, and was pulled up to stand next to the women with the purple wig. The woman gave a microphone to Georgia, and asked her a few questions. What her name was, how old she was, and a few others that she didn't really pay attention too. One was about something called the Hunger Games. Georgia had heard the term, but she didn't really know what it was. Maybe it was some new TV show she'd get to be at the premiere of!

The woman with the purple wig pulled a slip out of the boys jar. "Hartford Ross!" she called. A small boy, even younger than she was, started toddling up to the stage. The sandy-haired boy called from the crowd, "I volunteer! Oh, umm.. as tribute!". He followed Georgia's path up to the stage, where the mayor lifted himself up.

"And who are you, my boy?" the purple woman asked him.

"My name's Loom Tully, and I'm 8 years old!" he said, waving to the audience.

The women in purple put her hand to her heart. "How precious!" she crooned. She turned to face the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen! I give you Georgia and Loom, the tributes from District 8!"

The last thing Georgia remembered seeing was Belle's face stained with tears before she was pushed into a car with Loom.

"Why is she crying?" Georgia thought to herself, but she didn't have time to think much of the subject.

**Peoples, there's the chapter. I apreciate all the follows, favorites, and submittions, but REVIEW! I love hearing what all y'all think! Thank you all!**

**Sorry if you guys have nightmares about Gadeloth. I did last night. You should see the form. Although, I'm sure Jace will protect me xD**

**Maxie out! **


	4. Heaps of Reaps, Part 2

Heaps of Reaps, Part 2

**A/N at the bottom, sorry. Also, short chapter but all I could do today, sorry!**

*District 3*

"Hello, and welcome to the Reaping! I'm sure we're all going to have some fun today." the bleached blond, tanned woman on the stage said, giving District 3 a bright smile, as if she was announcing that she was giving them all free puppies, and not a ticket to certain death.

There were three kind of people in the world that Oliver Mullins seriously hated. One, all people from the Capitol. Two, happy-go-lucky people who just thought everything was fun and full of joy. Three, idiots.

The lady on the stage was all three. Which meant it was going to be a very bad day.

Ollie looked around at the other fourteen year olds. Most of them were looking at the woman with interest. Ollie groaned inwardly. How could his peers be such idiots?! Seriously, why were they buying some candy-coated speech about how fun it was to go kill yourself. If it was that fun to kill yourself, Ollie could solve the problem in a better, faster way. Such as hanging.

But... no! They had to fight to the death to amuse the Capitol. That sounded logical. Of course, why would the Capitol need these random children. All we do is provide more mouths to feed.

He glanced behind him and caught a glimpse of his brother, Darby. The older boy gave him a death glare and moved his finger across his throat. Ollie wasn't sure whether he wanted Ollie to die, or was showing him where he was going to get a tattoo.

He didn't much care, either. What did Darby have on him? Ollie was smart, tall, had a good sense of humor, and was just generally awesome. Darby had none of these things. Darby was short, chubby, and kind of an idiot. Ollie, himself, had been out shinning him since he was in diapers. Darby couldn't scare Ollie with stupid death threats.

Well, there was last night. But that was just Ollie being stupid. Just because Darby had said that he wanted Ollie to be reaped, didn't mean that he really did. Right? And that wouldn't mean he would be reaped, of course.

Ollie wasn't superstitious, but the reaping did scare him a little. He was fourteen, meaning he had 3 tickets in the jar. Darby had 4, being a year older. It was an extra chance to be picked from last year. But still... he was being an idiot. He had 3 chances out of hundreds. There was no likelihood of him being picked, no matter what Darby thought.

Besides, being superstitious was for stupid people. And Ollie wasn't stupid. In fact, he was a genius, especially with computers. His dad hadn't even had to teach him anything, like he was still attempting to do with Darby.

Ollie smirked. Darby was an idiot. He was probably superstitious too, although Ollie had never cared enough to ask. He rarely talked to Darby more than a "hey, move it!" when he was in the way. After that, if Darby still hadn't moved, Ollie punched him, which made him feel great.

Jolting himself out of his thought, Ollie's eyes focussed back on the perky woman from the Capitol. She was knew, he realized. He had never seen her before at any of the previous reapings. She was just crossing the stage to the women's bowl. "Ladies first" she announced cheerily to the crowd.

"Big shocker!" Ollie mumbled. He rolled his eyes as the woman spent way to much time fumbling in the bowl, trying to the perfect card. "Where's a noose when you need one" Ollie said. The boy next to him put his finger to his lips and glared. Ollie, in return, gave him a hand gesture that would have made his mother scream.

The woman on the stage finally announced the name. "Tesla Mitchell" she called.

A girl with dark, chocolate brown hair running down her back walked up to the stage. She was expressionless, but she walked calmly and held her head high. Ollie had seen her around school. She was about 3 years older, but she seemed nice enough. He'd heard name announced over the intercom system for getting awards, so he figured she was probably pretty bright. She was also super pretty, not that Ollie was interested in girls. It was just something to note.

The woman from the Capitol asks her the usual questions. Her name, even though she just said it, her age, ect. Ollie was starting to rethink his 'this girl was smart' theory when the question came up.

"So", the woman asked, "How do you feel about the Hunger Games?"

The girl looked like she was about to kill someone. Ollie almost ducked, but Tesla did something different instead. She started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" the woman says, a little put out of joint.

The girl laughs harder. "It's just... well.. It's a game to fight to the death, and you're asking me how I feel about it like I'm going grocery shopping. I feel like I'm probably going to die. Is that ok?"

The woman is stunned, but tries to cover it a smile. "On to boys, shall we." she crosses to the bowl. "Oliver Mullins".

"You have got to be kidding me!" Ollie screams. The whole crowd parts for him to walk up on the stage. He flushes red, embarrassed at his yelling. The girl didn't loose control. But Ollie didn't really care what the crowd thought of him. He had just been handed a death sentence. He really wasn't concerned what his hair looked like.

After his little 'slip up', Ollie marched onto the stage with his head held high. He attempted to make a spectacular jump onto the stage, but his foot hooked last second. He came crashing down, epically failing onto the stage. His face turned a brighter shade of maroon. The crowd started laughing a little, not helping him.

He got to his feet and scanned the crowd. The only one who didn't seem to be finding humor in his fall was Telsa. She gave him a look somewhere between pity and respect. She, at least, was in the same boat.

Sadly, his eyes next fell on Darby. The idiot was cackling, probably wondering if he was the supreme ruler of the universe now. His smug face was too much for Ollie to bare. Emotions surged through him. Pain, anger, sadness. Everything all at once hit him like a freight train. He'd prefer a real freight train, though.

It was all too much. His brother, the fall, all the crowd, and the death sentence now on his head. The mayor was talking now, giving some stupid speech about a stupid topic. He walked over to Ollie to ask his final thoughts on the Hunger Games. He held the microphone to Ollie's mouth, expecting some kind of gracious or winning comment.

Instead, Ollie punched him in the face.

The crowd gasped, and some people screamed. Ollie was pleased to see that Darby had a stupid, stunned look on his face. Serves the idiot right, he thought proudly. He gave a wave to his brother.

Then he turned and stomped into the car, ready to take on the Capitol.

Or at least, kick some butt.

**I'm sorry, Jace for that horrible crap of a chapter! It was the best I had tonight! I'm truly sorry, it should have been better. It's late, and Christmas Eve. At least I got an update though, even if it was short. **

**Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it. Thanks for like 350 reads and all the comments. You guys rock! Now, let's get to 11,000 like on my other story. We can do it. Go people go! Tell your friends! **

**Not sure if I'm doing a chapter tomorrow, but I can try. **

**-Maxie Out! 3 **


	5. Final Tribute List

**Wassup people! I know it's been a little while, but I'm gonna try and have the next Districts reapings up today. Thank you to **JaceWillcutt** I've changed my system again. Next chapter will be the last reapings showed, but don't panic. Characters who did not revieve reaps will get goodbye chapters, train rides, trainings, exct. So, there won't be too, too many repeats. **

**Now, without further blabbering, here is the final list. And when I said final, I mean final, ok. I'm sorry if you don't like it, but I picked characters that specifically fit with each other. I loved them all, and it's very sad I can't accept all of them, but here is the list.**

**Final Tribute List for Don't Look Down- SYOC**

**District 1:**

Male- Midas Hackett, age 21

Female- Nissa Anne Foster, age 19

**District 2:**

Male- Augustine Paylor, age 20

Female- Isla Boccaria, age 23

**District 3:**

Male- Oliver Mullins, age 14

Female- Tesla Mitchell, age 17

**District 4:**

Male- Arren Cager, age 18

Female- Emmaline White, age 17

**District 5:**

Male- Karter White, age 22

Female- Rowena Briggs, age 19

**District 6:**

Male- Ever Harrow, age 13

Female- Abigail Tracks, age 10

**District 7:**

Male- Gadeloth Butcher, age 24

Female- Willow Thorn, age 17

**District 8:**

Male- Loom Tully, age 8

Female- Georgina Evans, age 8

**District 9:**

Male- Conner King, age 16

Female- Elinor Harding, age 9

**District 10: **

Male- Archie Whitson, age 15

Female- Robyn Blamina, age 17

**District 11:**

Male- Jute Mustardseed, age 21

Female- Suzzanne Richards, age 8

**District 12:**

Male- Ricardo Donahue, age 22

Female- Razelle Craid, age 7

**Again, I will try to have the chapter out today, but I'm not positive! Thanks to everyone again! **


	6. Heaps of Reaps, Part 3

Hey! Let's start right with the chapter, shall we.

Chapter 6- Heaps of Reaps, Part 3

*District 1*

It was just past midnight in the apartment. The small, crescent-shaped moon let little light into the windows, and even the stars didn't seem to shine as brightly.

Of course they didn't. It was reaping day.

But most people were asleep, or at least pretending to be, and the ones who were awake didn't care about the stars.

Well, there was one exception.

Nissa woke up screaming. Her screams echoed around the small apartment, bouncing off the colorful walls that she and Jemima had worked so hard to paint. Nissa knew she had to stop screaming, but the nightmare had been so real. She couldn't stop, she couldn't calm down. She thrashed around, kicking up the covers and tearing blankets off the bed.

The bedroom door was flung open, and Nissa say the grumpy face of her roommate and best friend, Jemima, standing in the doorway. "God, Nissa, shut up or you'll get us kicked out of the apartment!"

Nissa, whether it was from fear or obedience, stopped crying. She sat up in bed and cowered like a hurt puppy, not looking at Jemima in the eyes. She looked at her hands, wringing them nervously together. Then, all of a sudden, she burst into tears.

The hard look on Jemima's face softened. She hadn't meant to make her friend cry. She rushed to the bed and put her arm around her friend. "Oh, Nissa, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry!"

Nissa sniffed and tried to pull herself together. She knew she was 19, which was way too old to be crying over a scary dream. But her night terrors were all to real. He had been there, holding the ropes, tying her to the bed, and trying to... trying to... Nissa started to hiccup. It was too real.

Dreams were always haunting her. Dreams with his face, his evil, menacing face, leaning toward her, trying to take advantage of her. In the dreams, she felt it all again. The ropes around her arms and neck, holding her in place. His foul breath that made it almost impossible to breath, not that she could anyway. Her blood from wounds where he had beaten her. And his eyes. His cold, blue eyes, so much like her own.

He was... well, had been, her brother. Her own brother. And he had tried to do the worst thing imaginable with her. He had tried... he had tried... to... she didn't want to think about it. Besides, it was over. They had promised her that he was dead. They had shot him, the police told her. Shot him as he was running away. But they hadn't found the body. They had thought he had been shot in a dark forest, but when they ran to the area, there was nothing. No footprints, no body, no nothing. He was simply gone.

Nissa knew. She knew he was still out there. She knew he would come back and finish the job. He would come back for her.

And the nightmares of that thought kept her awake every night.

Jemima was a saint. She had been the best friend that anyone could ask for. Nissa couldn't count the times she had woken up screaming and Jemima had been there for her. She'd make tea or warm milk and keep Nissa company until she fell back asleep. Nissa couldn't explain why she did this, but she was always in her debt.

Nissa burried her head into Jemima's chest, trying to slow her heart beat down to the steady "boom boom boom" of her friend's. Jemima wrapped her in a hug, understanding what had happened without even having to ask. She knew what had woken Nissa, as it had every single night before.

The two girls stayed silent, not wanting or having anything to talk about. After a few minutes, Nissa wiped her eyes and raised her head. "I'm sorry I woke you." she said in her quiet little voice.

Jemima rubbed her friend's back. "Don't worry about it. I'm used to it" she said, cracking a small smile.

Nissa smiled weakly as well. "Yah, I'm sorry for that too."

"Oh, it's ok. It's like my own personal alarm system. I get you when I want a midnight snack, and I get Toffee and Poundcake when I need to get up in the morning", Jemima snickered, waving her hand as if to say that most people should have cats as an alarm clock.

She yawned and helped her friend back down in the covers, tucking her back in. "Now, go to sleep. It's Reaping Day tomorrow."

Nissa snuggled back into the covers, her eyes already blinking slowly closed. "Why did you remind me?" she smiled groggily, fighting against sleep.

"Calm down, I think you have like one ticket in it. And it's your last year!"

"Last year was supposed to be my last year!" Nissa complained sleepily.

"Yah, well, Splotches was supposed to be our last cat, and I still see Chubby". Jemima smirked.

Eyes closed, Nissa complained, "Crystal's not fat!"

"You named her Crystal, yet I think we should have named her Chubbacabra". Jemima smiled at Nissa, who was drifting to sleep.

There was no answer. Nissa was off in dreamland. Hopefully the good kind, or Jemima would have to wake up another time. The girl tiptoed back to her own bedroom, careful not to wake her friend.

She was in the hall going to her room when she tripped over a cat. She almost fell, but grabbed hold of the kitchen counter at the last minute. "Stupid Crystal!" she yell-whispered angrily. The yellow-and-white-splotted cat gave her an unamused look and a meow. Apperantly, she was hungry. "Go live on blubber." Jemima mumbled, and stormed back to her room. She collapsed on her bed and was asleep instantly.

Nissa woke up the next morning in a fairly happy mood. She had gotten a full six hours of sleep after Jemima had come in, and was feeling pretty refreshed. She tossed her two auburn braids out of her face and stretched her arms. She blinked a couple of times and rubbed her eyes, hoping to clear her brain of any sleepiness.

Then she remembered what day it was.

Her good mood vanished.

She had thought she was done with the reapings. After 7 years of lining up in straight lines with her peer group, waiting for someone's name to be called so they could go fight to the death, wasn't she done! Hadn't she served her time. Nissa wished she was 26, or 30, or really age but 19. Well, she thought, at least I'm not five.

Nissa's heart ached for the families who she knew would lose small kids. Hopefully, no one five would be sent into the reaping, but she didn't know. She thought that human kind had enough kindness that someone could volunteer for a 5-year-old. Someone, one person at least, had to volunteer.

"Then again," Nissa grumbled, climbing out of bed and crossing her small bedroom to the closet, "Human kind did start the Games in the first place."

She undid her braids, and let her hair hand loose around her shoulders. Normally, she would tie it in a low ponytail with a bandana, but she had the feeling Jemima would kill her if she did that. She brushed it out a little and let it hang in waves around her shoulders.

She fumbled through her closet, looking for anything that wasn't jeans and a t-shirt. There wasn't a whole lot of option. Jeans, jeans, jeans, her robes and turban she wore for her job as a fortune teller, more jeans. She finally decided on a dark brown cotton skirt and a knitted baby blue sweater. Hey, I put on a skirt, she thought. No one can complain about that.

She closed the door to the closet and walked out of her room. She made her way to the small kitchen, where she noticed Jemima sitting on a stool, eating oatmeal and observing her. Nissa turned to the fridge and rolled her eyes. Here came the outfit criticism.

Sure enough, Jemima spoke up. "You're really going to where that? To a reaping? Come on, Nissa."

Nissa pulled open the fridge and grabbed a stick of butter, an egg, and a bottle of milk. She set those on the counter, and then went to the cupboards. She grabbed the rest of the ingredients she needed, flour, sugar, cocoa powder, vanilla extract, and chocolate chips. She stood on her tip-toes to reach a mug and brought down a few bowls as well. All the while, she was deliberately ignoring Jemima's comment. She wasn't sure if she was ignoring her or trying to think of a good comeback, but staying silent seemed like her best bet.

Cracking the egg into one of the bowls, Nissa looked back over at her friend. Jemima, of course, was still looking at Nissa's clothes. "Also, I'm not sure that shade of blue..." she started to say.

"Matches the skirt." Nissa finished, pouring the now mixed egg into the mug, where it joined the flour, sugar, and cocoa. "I think you've mentioned it before once or twice" she told her friend, smirking.

"Well, it's true!" Jemima insisted. "Light blue is better with like a light gray, not a brown... And I mean, I know you'll just wear sneakers, and those won't go at all and..." she trailed off when she realized Nissa wasn't paying any attention to her, but was instead adding vanilla extract and milk to the mug. "You didn't get a word I just said, did you?"

"Nope!" Nissa chirped cheerfully, sticking her mug in the microwave and setting the timer. She turned back to her friend, who was giving her an exasperated look very familiar to Nissa. In fact, she saw it at least once every day.

Jemima sighed, seeing she wasn't getting through to her. She cleared her bowl of cereal, depositing it in the sink so she could do it after the reapings were over. She peered over at Nissa, who was giving her an innocent look as she waited by the microwave. "What are you making, anyway?" she questioned her friend.

"Chocolate cake in a mug" Nissa responded, shrugging as if this was a completely normal thing to have for breakfast.

"Really, Nissa? Really?" Jemima exclaimed.

The redhead just shrugged again and pulled her cake-in-a-mug out of the microwave. She walked and sat down at the seat Jemima had just vacated. "Hey, there's a chance I may be called to fight to the death today. I don't think there's gonna be a whole lotta chocolate in that arena, and you know how I am about my chocolate!"

Jemima held her hands up in defeat. She did know, all too well, how Nissa was about her chocolate. Shrugging, she left the room into her bedroom.

Nissa smiled as she ate her cake, knowing she had won the argument. She briefly pondered how she and Jemima had stayed friends in the first place when the two girls were so different. Jemima was outgoing and friendly towards everyone, where Nissa hated people. She also hated being the center of attention, where Jemima just ate it up. Yet, the two of them had been friends ever since the third grade, and, minus minor spatts, had never had a huge fight.

The clickity-clack of Jemima's high heels were heard again as she entered the room. "I'm going to the reaping, kay. Do you wanna come?"

Still with her mouth full, Nissa responded "Wehfy arhbae yoadu gaifieoing aiso aheuearjyly?"

"Can you say that again when your face is not stuffed with chocolate?" Jemima asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Why are you going so early? The reapings don't start for another half hour!" Nissa wondered, reluctantly swallowing her cake.

"'Cause last year we were late, and we barely got there in time." Jemima said slowly, as if she was dealing with a little kid.

Rolling her eyes again, Nissa shoved another bite of cake in her mouth. "I take it by that you don't want to come right now?" Jemima asked.

"Not in the slightest." Nissa replied. "I'll see you there, though."

Grumbling about her friend's tardiness, Jemima left the apartment, leaving Nissa alone to finish her cake and do the dishes. She vaguely wondered if that had been Jemima's plan all along, but didn't care to much. After she had finished, she grabbed the said sneakers from her room, slipped them on, and grabbed her apartment key. "Wouldn't want to forget this." she told herself, walking out the door and closing it behind her. "Jemima wouldn't let me hear the end of it". She started walking briskly down the street, because she now had only 5 minutes to sign into the reaping.

Luckily, Nissa got to the sign in place just in time. She made her way over the section where the 19-year-olds stood. She looked around for Jemima, but couldn't find her anywhere. _Serves me right for being late, I guess,_ she thought.

The escort from District 1, a plump woman with yellow hair slicked up to the top of her head in a cone shape, was giving some speech about what an honor it was to be here, and see so many eager young faces, and wasn't it just going to be a great year to have a Quarter Quell. Nissa was so disgusted when the women mentioned what an honor it would be to have younger kids in the game that she nearly hurled.

"Gag!" she whispered out loud, earning an angry look, from the blond girl standing next to her, who was gazing up at the Capitol woman with a look of pure enthrallment. Nissa glared right back before turning her attention back to the stage, where now the mayor was talking.

The mayor, a young man who had just taken the office last year, seemed nervous. Nissa noted that his palms were sweating and he seemed to be wiping his brow a lot. The girl next to him sighed. "Oh, the poor thing!" she crooned. "He's so nervous to be giving the speech. I don't blame him, though! It is a very big speech."

Nissa again looked at the blonde, this time raising her eyebrows. "I'm sorry, but... isn't that his job. As mayor, I mean. Half of that job is giving big speeches."

Blondey seemed taken aback by Nissa's comment, which just made Nissa happier. "Well... some of it! But he can still be nervous, can't he!?" she glared back with an angry, haughty look on her face. This was clearly a girl who was not used to being argued with.

"I would think the 6-year-olds have more of a reason to be nervous, as they are the ones who could be sent to their death." Nissa replied blandly.

The girl gave a look equivalent to if Nissa had just cursed to the Lord, or hit a puppy in the face, or anything else on that level. Sweetly, but as if she was explaining something to someone very dumb, she said, "Oh, well, at least they'll have the honor to die for the Capitol! They might also learn some valuable skills and knowledge before they die too."

Nissa was so taken aback by this girl's stupidity. She'd really prefer to kick this girl, rather than a puppy. What good did knowledge do them if they were dead?! She decided not to press the point, though, as the woman on the stage was crossing to the bowl. "Ladies first!" she trilled, in a voice someone might adopt if they were going to give you cookies, and not if they were pulling a child's name to be slaughtered.

Nissa groaned at how long the women took to fiddle in the bowl, trying to get the perfect piece of paper, getting her another dirty look from blonde-wad. "Oh, bite me!" she spit out at the girl, and turned her back on her just in time to hear the name, "Nissa Ann Foster" called out on the stage.

Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, went Nissa's heart. Surely, she had heard wrong. Surely, it hadn't been her name called.

"Nissa Ann Foster?" the lady repeated, sounded more annoyed this time. "Nissa! Where is Nissa Ann?"

The crowd separated and Nissa felt everyone's eyes on her. She forced herself to move, keeping her head held high. There's still a chance someone might volunteer, Nissa thought as she made her way up to the stage.

Now, she was on the stage, and still no one had said anything. That was impossible! District 1 always had volunteers! Were the people here so appalled by the new Quarter Quell that they didn't want to volunteer? Or was it just not that much of a challenge for them? Either way, Nissa realized it was hopeless when the escort crossed the stage again and pulled out the boys' slip of paper.

"Cagen Hartnen" she called.

Almost immediately a voice called, "I volunteer as tribute!". Nissa saw the relieved face of Cagen as the a man walked briskly up to the stage, and jumped onto it with ease. All Nissa could think was, _Someone volunteers for him! _

Nissa studied the man in front of her, who was to be her District partner. He was tall, muscular, and, she hated to admit it, sort of handsome. His hair was sandy brown, and his eyes were cool blue. His features were perfect, although Nissa could see the beginnings of a scar on the side of his neck. She wondered how he had gotten it, but the cold, hard look in his eyes reduced her eagerness to ask him.

He looks mean, she thought, just plain cruel. But right now, the escort was telling them to shake hands because they were running a little late.

Nissa reached out her hand, and the man took it. He grasped it a little harder than he should have, making Nissa wince. He whispered softly, so only she could hear, "Don't get any ideas about winning, missy. I guarantee you won't. It wouldn't be... my first kill, let's say."

_Well, that was one way to kill the mood, _Nissa thought as she walked off the stage. Not like the mood was very good, however. She couldn't make herself look back at the crowd as the exited the stage and were forced into a car. She didn't want to see Jemima's face. It would just make her feel worse. Well, if she could feel worse about sitting in the backseat of a car next to a murderer driving to a Game where she would most likely be killed.

_Nope, that's about as bad as it gets, actually. _

So, instead of worrying about what was to come or reminiscing about her past, she stared at the window watching the buildings pass by.

It had started to rain, Nissa noticed.

Nissa wished she could be out in the rain. Then, no one would notice her tears.

**I'd planned to do a longer A/N, but it's late. Next time :)**


	7. Train Rides

**Hey guys! I'm finally updating, I know. So, I'm super eager to get into the games, so this introduces a ton of tributes that haven't been mentioned on their train rides to the Capitol. Also, I brought back Loom and Georgia by popular request! :) Each District is fairly short, but together they add up to a fairly long chapter.**

**BTW, the District 4 tribute's train ride chapter is high T rated, so if you don't like that, just skip it. But, if you don't like it, I wouldn't be reading the Hunger Games. It contains blood and self harming. **

**Here we go! **

*District 2*

Isla Boccaria sat on the plush bed in her cabin, trying to keep the sickness down. The motion of the train made her ill, but she knew enough to keep her eyes closed and sit down. Walking around the giant machine would just make her more dizzy.

When she had volunteered at the Reapings, she hadn't known she had motion sickness. Sure, she'd been in a car before, but she'd never moved this fast or for so long. She hoped they got to the Capitol soon. Not only was she eager for the sickness to stop, there were certain... other details she needed to discuss with her boss.

Her newest boss, she should say. This wasn't her usual type of job. To be honest, Isla would probably have turned him down if she had another offer. Sadly, no one seemed to need an assassin right now.

While not exactly open about her job, Isla was proud of it. She was a hired assassin, not one of those run-of-the-mill Peacekeepers. She wasn't hired muscle. She was special. It wasn't that she was big and strong, because in fact, she wasn't. Isla was only about 5'3, and couldn't weigh more than 120 pounds soaking wet. But she was still the women that people came to when they wanted a job done.

The thing that made Isla so different was her personality. When she was hired, she got the job done. That was that. The quicker for Isla, the better. If the person dies quickly, there's less time for morals to get in the way.

Morals. She was sure those stupid things would be the downfall of her. Usually, she was fine. But when she was hired to kill a child, or an innocent person, or someone who just looked nice, they got in the way. She tried not to feel remorse. It was simply her job to kill. That was that.

Others felt differently, though. They judged her, every time they found out. She didn't tell many, but as soon as she was close enough to someone, they dumped her. They left her by herself, and ran. Sadly, those people had to be eliminated. She couldn't let her secret get out. And look what happened, now that they were out of the way. She had her biggest job of all time. A hired assassin for the Capitol.

There was just one small problem. She had to win the Hunger Games. It was a job like no other. Mostly because a powerful man had hired her. Which powerful man was this?

Only the President of Panem.

President Dove wasn't quite the man he seemed on the television. He wasn't quite as generous and giving. But, then again, he was running Panem. You couldn't be a saint. Dove had valid concerns. The Districts were showing signs of rebellion again. He was afraid that if someone besides a Career won, the Districts would rally behind her. Apparently, it had happened before, in the 75th Hunger Games. They had sent in previous victors, including a girl called Katniss Everdeen. She and her boyfriend who came from District 12 had caused somewhat of a Rebellion. All Isla had been told is that it had caused a problem. A problem Dove didn't want to see happen.

That's where Isla would come in. They had a deal. The Gamemakers would make the arena easier for her, and in return, she would stay alive. If she became winner, she would live the rest of her life without hosting any spirit of rebellion whatsoever. She would be paid a hearty sum of money for winning, plus the usual perks of a victor. Really, it was a golden deal.

Now, all she had to do was win the Hunger Games. Judging by the look of a her District partner, a small, 11-year-old child named Augustine Paylor, it wasn't going to be much of a challenge.

Isla wasn't afraid of a little competition. She knew her plan and her duties. Now all she needed was to get to the Capitol and off this stupid train.

*District 4*

The butter knife doesn't work as well as a regular knife, Emmaline realized. It did enough, though. It actually hurt more, because it didn't cut as well. It didn't get enough blood out, though.

Her red blood dripped onto the floor and onto her nice shirt. She didn't care. She hated it anyway. All she had woken up to in her closet were bright, happy clothes. Colorful skirts and formal dresses. There wasn't anything black in there. She'd picked the only thing that had been sort of dull. Just black flats, a navy blue skirt, and a light gray formal top. She had received a look from her escort, Cortez, when he had come to wake her up, but she didn't care. If she was lucky, maybe God would strike her dead before she had to go fight in the Hunger Games.

Emmaline was afraid of death. She'd tried to kill herself before several times. 4 to be exact. But she didn't appreciate the Capitol's little game. She wasn't some pawn to be used. She should have the right to protest this. She should.

She wasn't afraid to die. But she wanted the right to choose when she died.

Shouldn't she be able to make that choice?

"Wouldn't it be funny", she mused in a whisper, "If I was already dead by the time I got to the games? That would show them."

She pressed the blade against her wrists again, relishing in the pain. Her old scars opened up, spilling more of the red liquid out onto the floor. She wondered how long it would take to die. Would it hurt more than this? Probably, she guessed.

It would probably hurt a lot more to die in the Games.

And, if she died now, she could beat them. She'd show them. She will not die when they want her to.

She pulled the knife away from her wrists and put it over her heart. It would hurt, she knew, but it would be worth it. She pressed it to her skin, gently. She could feel her heart beat fast. That was stupid. She's not afraid to die. Why does her heart beat so fast?

There was a knock on the door, and Emmaline whirled around. She called, "Whose there?!" in a slightly huffy tone. Couldn't she kill herself in peace.

The voice of her fellow tribute, a tall, good-looking boy called Arren, came through the door. "Emmaline? You've been in there a while? Are you ok?". He sounds concerned.

She didn't answer, but simply stared at the door. Why does he care? He shouldn't care about her. No one ever has before, except for maybe the youngest kids. When they grow up, they learn better. They learn she's not worth caring about.

So then, why does a boy she's just met care about her?

She put the knife down on the counter, and picks up a towel and wiped away the blood on her wrists. For some reason, she doesn't want this boy to know about what she does. She called back outside "Everything's fine, Arren. Thank you."

"Ok." The voice responded, and then footsteps walk away.

Emmaline smiled. Maybe being a pawn had it's perks.

*District 6*

It was dinner on the train, and Ever's mouth watered just staring at the food. It all looked so delicious. Sweet bread with different fruity sauces, a kind of sliced meat that smelled of sweet smoke and sugar, and so much more. Stews and salads and cakes and pies! Everything a thirteen-year-old boy could want.

Sadly, though, he wasn't allowed to just dive into the meal like he would like to. His escort, a chubby, annoying women called Zinnia with green hair, had told him that he had to go slowly. This made him sulk. If he was going to die, why couldn't he at least gain a few pounds before he did so. Besides, surely they didn't just make all the yummy food to go to waste.

His District partner, a small girl named Abigail, was already showing him up. This seriously put him out of joint. The girl couldn't have been more than ten, but she was taking delicate bites of her food, sipping her water daintily, and wiping her mouth with her napkin.

Show-off.

There was an awkward silence at the table. Neither of the mentors, Kirk or Cara, were speaking. Zinnia seemed to have run out of gossip to say. Thank the Lord, Ever thought. Abigail hadn't spoken since she had been reaped, despite his efforts to make conversation with her. He got the fact that she was scared, but that wasn't a good reason to ignore him.

Girls.

Ever shoved whatever was on his plate into his mouth, all thought of manners forgotten. It all tasted so good! He was especially fond of the chocolate, peanut butter cupcakes they had served him for dessert. The escort had humphed a little at the plainness of the pastry, but Ever had liked it. Not everything had to be fancy, and the cupcakes tasted divine, anyway.

Ever finished his cupcake in two big bites, and then turned to the escort. "Can I have another one?"

"Not until we remember our manners, deary!" Zinnia scolded lightly.

He rolled his eyes. Great priorities, he thought, I'm about to go fight to the death, but I have to make sure to put my napkin in my lap, first.

So, remembering his manners, Ever reached out and grabbed a cupcake off the tray. He unwrapped it, chucked the cupcake wrapper at Zinnia, and shoved the entire thing into his mouth. Abigail started to giggle.

Boy, it tasted like victory.

*District 8- THE RETURN OF LOOM AND GEORGIA! (Btw, if you're shipping this, it's Ginoom)*

Both the two kids were sitting in Georgia's room after dinner, enjoying themselves. Georgia was flopped on her bed staring at the ceiling, and Loom was spinning around on her desk chair. It went so fast, that he easily got dizzy after one or two spins. He fell out of the chair and onto the floor, and both the children laughed.

Georgia, still staring at the ceiling, spoke up. "I can't believe no one volunteered for this! It's amazing!"

Loom looked at her, big eyes filled with excitement. "I know! There's so much to do on this train."

There was a minute of silence. "I'm bored!" Georgia exclaimed.

"Me too." Loom said, agreeing with basically everything Georgia said. It was clear he was already a little enamored with her. Well, as enamored as an eight-year-old child can get. He watched her as she flipped over and looked at him.

"We could go exploring!" she suggested, her red hair falling over her eyes. She blows it out of her face, and tucks it behind her ears.

Loom shakes his head. "We're supposed to stay in here, remember. That lady with the blue hair told us so."

Georgia sighed. "Fine! But there's nothing fun to do in here."

Looking around, the sandy-haired boy tried to find something to do. His eyes laid on the bed. Loom's face broken into a smile. "Let's make a fort!" he yelled, jumping up and running to the bed. He grabbed the pillows and started throwing them off onto the floor. Georgia, catching on, started dragging the blankets off of the bed. They piled the pillows together to have a soft floor, and used the blankets as the walls and ceiling.

Through the night, as the children found it difficult to sleep through all the excitement, the fort became many things. It was a cabin in the woods that had been snowed in. It was an Indian's teepee back in the Wild West, and the spiny chair was the horse, Silver. It was a palace, where Georgia, the queen, knighted Loom.

It was so many things over the night, except what the two children most. A sanctuary. In their play, they forgot about everything around them. Even though they didn't know what it meant to be in the Hunger Games, they knew one thing. They were leaving. They had seen previous tributes go, and never come back. Little did they know it was because they had died.

So the children played on, blissfully unaware of what lurked ahead for them. Playing house, and cowboy, and even hide-and-go-seek kept them busy late into the night. It wasn't until Georgia fell asleep right on the pillows when Loom finally decided to settle down. Not wanting to wake her, he dragged an extra blanket over her and collapsed onto her bed. Within seconds, he was asleep.

Oh, what Games await them in the Capitol.


	8. Question

Question:

**Hey guys. Super sorry this isn't a new chapter. But, it's a very, VERY important question.**

**So**,** I've been getting a lot of reviews about Loom and Geogia. Here's the thing. Ethically, you know I wouldn't ever kill real little kids. I don't really want to, anyway. However, would it really make sense if I let little kids win (this isn't saying they aren't going to win, I haven't picked the victor yet). **

**But, with all the reviews I get about "Please don't kill them!" I get a little less confident. It's not you guys, at all, but nerves as a writer. I've never written a Hunger Games SYOC, much less one like this, before.**

**So, serious question, and again, I'm not nesacarrily killing Loom or Georgia. But, there is only going to be one victor, I've decided.**

**Would you rather I kill one or both of them, or would you prefer me to stop this story and write a different SYOT?**

**I have an idea for one, and it will be my next one. It's up to you if you want me to stop this one and do the new one right now, or do the next one now. Here's the idea (Do not steal! I will know o.o)**

The Trouble With Tributes-

With 312 years of the Hunger Games behind them, Headgamemaker Lisle Larken was getting a little bored. Then, an idea came to her. The trouble with tributes is that they always act so differently than the way they should. But, if we were to give them something, just a harmless little injection to "encourage" them to be different, imagine the excitement! Ally turning on ally, friend on friend. Then again, this is the Hunger Games. You know what they say. "Anything is possible."

**So, yah. That's the new book idea. I thought about doing both, but that's just too much. **

**Please tell me if I should keep writing (yet kill innocent kids) or write this new one instead. **

**Thank you! **


	9. Chapter 9

**As you can see by me updating, I am continuing this story! Commence cheering. Lol. Never mind. But, thank you for all reviews to help me decide. You people crack me up. My personal favorite were ones who went from "NO! DON'T KILL LOOMY! GINOOM FOR LIFE!" and then went "KILL THEM IN THE FIRES OF HELL!" Ahhh... I was laughing so hard. But, as a treat, I decided to give every tribute a blurb! Yes, every one! I know, I know. I'm amazing. Each is fairly short though, especially bloodbath tributes. **

**Look, here's the thing. I'm seriously tired, and I just wanted to post this. So, there's most tributes POV, then I had to stop. So, no order. Just some people. **

**Now, to the chapter. Since it was too hard to do the chariot rides in everyone's POV, these are all the makeovers. Also, I start with guy and then go to girl. That's just how I roll. **

*D1, Midas Hackett, age 21*

These stylists are all so annoying. They're constantly talking about nonsense. I wish I could just kill them right here and now. Sadly, I think I'll have to save the killing for the Games. If only these stylists were my competitors. They'd be dead on the first day. These other kids... I'm not so sure about.

Most will go down easily. The little kids will get a knife in the back or a spear in the heart. I'm sure they don't even know what the Games are, anyway. Even some of the older kids will be an easy catch. My tribute partner... what's her name. Nilly? Nippa? Something right that. She'll be bloodbath, I'm sure. Cried herself to sleep all last night on the train, and when she was asleep she was crying out and moaning. Wimp.

There are only a few I have my eye on, really. That big bloke from D7 seems ruthless. Looks horrible, probably smells bad too. His face seems to be covered in rotting flesh. My type of guy. If I were stupider, I might ask for an alliance. But I'm not. I work better alone.

And the girl from 2. Isla. She's different. She volunteered, but looked like she didn't really want to be there. Weird. Seems like something you'd think of before shouting "I volunteer" at a Reaping. Maybe she's got a plan, though.

One of my stylists, Coltan, tries to get a tweezer close enough to my face so he can pluck my eyebrows. My hand automatically shoots out and grabs his wrist. "Pluck one and I'll impale you with your own tweezers." I whisper. His alarmed look is pleasure enough for me. I release his wrist and he scurries away, like a mouse.

I almost grin. It's too easy.

*D1, Nissa Ann Foster, 19*

Snip, snip, snip.

My red hair falls to the floor as they trim it slightly. I told them I didn't want too much done with it, and so far, they'd respected my wishes. I was a little bored by their endless gossip, but it was surely better than what was about to happen in a few days.

I missed Jemima more and more. I wished I was back at the apartment. There was no one to comfort me on the train when I had nightmares. It wasn't like my District partner was going to do anything.

The guy had literally told me he had murdered people before. And, he was so open about it!

If that wasn't scary, I don't know what is.

So, not only did I have to sleep without Jemima comforting me, I also had to baricade my room from a murderer.

And my prep team complained I had circles under my eyes. I wonder why!

*D2, Augustine Paylor, 11* 

"Do you know who my father is?!" I yell at my stylist, Romma. "He's the head Peacekeeper back in D2! I could have you arrested if so much as touch me with those things." I scream, pointing at the outfit I am supposed to wear. It's hideous. I wanted to be dressed as a god, but instead they hold out something bland and black.

My stylist doesn't say anything, but continues to hold out the outfit. I take it from him and throw it on the ground. "No."

He rolls his eyes, picks it up, and holds it back out. I take it and throw it at the ground again. "No."

The routine continues, and I start to get bored. Finally, after about the fifteenth time of this, I take the outfit and hold it. "Fine!" I yell. "Happy!?"

"Extremely." is the answer I get in reply.

*D2, Isla Boccaria, 23*

The "prep" part of my make-over goes horribly. They put makeup on me, making me seem like a girl. In my profession, there is no need to look "girly".

I look at my face in the mirror, which has been made to look like a teen girl. I raise my eyebrows at the prep team and give them a scary looking smile. "Get this stuff off of my face, or I'll sock you so hard you won't have it anymore."

They recoil in horror and immediately begin wiping my face off. "Now, give me something that looks sophisticated and awe-inspiring."

The prep team nods and redo the makeup. I look in the mirror when I've finished. "This is much better." I say, looking myself up and down. "But that outfit better not be anything girly. Or you'll get it."

Their eyes widen in horror. "Nothing girly, got it." one of them says, but I swear I hear one of them leaves the room to check on the outfit.

Wimps.

*D3, Olly Mullins, 14*

I was wondering if I could get away with punching my makeover crew when my stylist walked in. Wow... if I thought the prep team looked scary, there was no way I was prepared for my stylist.

She was one of the scariest people I had even known. Her hair was white, and she was obviously older, but her face was stretched so there weren't any wrinkles. Her mouth is stretched into a permanent smile. But the worst part is her eyes. They are a light, light blue and they seem to stare into my soul. I feel myself recoiling, even though I'm not aware of doing it.

The stylist, who my prep team introduced as Lightnie, looks me over. I try to act brave and bold, like I'm not afraid of her. It probably fails, but who knows. "He won't do." she says, and then begins to walk out.

I can't keep my mouth shut. "Ummm... EXCUSE ME LADY! Who said I wanted to be here, anyway. If you're going to insult me, maybe you should leave. I don't need you're crappy styling job, or your stupid smile, or your freaky eyes. 'Cause lady, I am so much better looking that you!"

Lightnie turns back around. She looks me over again and gives a nod. "I will get the outfit." she tells the prep team, and they cheer.

Well, ok then. I guess I just won.

*D3, Tesla Mitchell, 17* 

"Do I have to wear that?" I ask, trying to make my eyes round and innocent. At 17, I'm a little old to do puppy dog eyes, though I would if I thought it would work.

Catt, my stylist, rolls her eyes at me. She seems pretty normal for the Capitol, though her hair is dyed in a rainbow fashion. This is only her second year as a stylist, she told me, and it sort of shows in her work. She wants to put a shiny metallic looking dress on me, which will make it look like I'm a gun or something. "Well, they have to be District related, and it's similar to what they wore last year."

"And, how did that work out for District 3?" I ask, sarcastically.

Her eyes lower. "Both tributes died in the bloodbath."

"Exactly!" I smile. "So, no gun dress."

She raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow at me. "Do you have a better idea?"

"Maybe!" I say, smirking. "Listen up, here's what we're gonna do."

*D4, Arren Cager, 18*

I can hear Emmaline's protests as they shove her roughly in the door where she'll meet her prep team. I feel for her, but I don't understand what the big fuss is all about. It's just a make-over. I thought girls were supposed to be into this sort of a thing.

I will never understand women.

My own prep team seems nice enough, and they have some funny things to say. They tell me this one story about a neighbor one of them has. All I got was there was a hippo, 90 pounds of caviar, and a blow-up bouncy house.

Seems like a great party. I sort of wanted to be there.

My stylist isn't chatty. In fact, she doesn't speak at all. My prep team introduced her as Viper. She just nods at me. I guess that's a sign of approval.

I mean, it should be. I am, by far, the best looking tribute out there. But I don't like to brag, so I won't. Viper finally stops sizing me up and down and speaks. My eyes widen in terror. Her canine teeth have been sharpened into fangs.

Well, that's not creepy.

"That's fine." she says, her voice raspy.

*D4, Emmaline White, 17*

My prep team noticed my scars, but respectfully, they didn't say anything. That was nice of them. Why they're being nice to us, I don't know.

My stylist is... difficult. The dress he's created for me isn't too bad, but he wants me to smile.

I don't smile.

"You seem to not understand." I tell him, crossing my arms. "I'm not smiling."

He glares at me. "You don't understand! You will smile."

"Will not."

"Will too."

"Will not."

He grabs my shoulders, breathing heavily. "My dear. You will smile, or I will instruct someone to preform a surgery that will make you smile permanently."

My eyes widen in horror. "I'll smile." I manage to croak out. He smiles.

*D5, Karter Levis, 22*

I hate the Capitol. I hate every bit of it. Every single bit.

The Capitol is the reason I was reaped. I didn't volunteer for this. I served my time! I went to the stupid Reapings every single time. My name wasn't supposed to be in the bowl.

I have a family back home. A wife. Two little kids. They depend on me. If I don't make it back, what are they going to do? What will happen to them?

I have to win, for them. The idea of killing anyone repulses me, but the idea of them dying is worse.

I will do anything to get back to them.

Anything.

*D5, Rowena Briggs, 19*

"Maybe, instead of fighting, we could just have a debate." I suggest to my stylist, Candee, who just sighs. "No, no! Hear me out. So, instead of killing each other, we debate to the 'death'. But no one really dies. Then there's a winner, and everyone goes home."

Candee gives me a sad smile. "I don't think that would be as entertaining as a death match to the Capitol people."

"Ok, what about a trivia match?" I wonder.

She shakes her head. "I don't your understanding the whole 'scare fear into rebels' hearts' thing, honey."

I sigh. "I understand it. I just wish it didn't happen."

She nods. "I know. You have too good of a heart for this kind of thing."

"I'm not going to kill anyone. I'd rather die." I tell her. It comes out as a shock, but once it's out, I know it's true.

She pats my shoulder. "I know, honey. I know."

That, somehow, makes me feel worse.

*D6, Ever Harrow, 13*

My first thought as I enter the room where I will be "made-over" as my escort said is, God, they are so pink! I was commenting on the three people who stand before me, all of which have some form of hot pink on their bodies. There are 2 men and a women, which almost makes it worse, actually. The girl has a hot pink wig that looks like cotton candy, which is making me really hungry. One of the men has hot pink lipstick on. And the other dude has gone as far to have dyed his skin hot pink.

This brings me to a follow-up question.

WHY?

Of course, I don't actually ask them. My escort is gripping tight to my shoulder. Apparently, it was ok for the 10-year-old to meet her stylist alone, but I can't. I mean, I'm 13. I'm practically ancient.

It probably has something to do with the cupcake incident. Hey, I said I was sorry. Quietly. And in my head.

It should still count.

My escort pushes me towards the pink prep team, and I dead weight myself. I keep myself from falling to the floor, but I refuse to move. Although she tries to push me, she's not that strong. She leans in and whispers in my ear "Darling, this is your last chance. Go to your prep team, or I call the Peacekeepers."

Suddenly, my feet seem a lot more eager to move, and before I know it, I'm sitting in the chair.

This had better be quick.

*D6, Abigail Tracks, 10*

After being pampered by my prep team who ooh and ahh over me and my "cuteness", my stylist enters. She looks the most normal out of all the people in the so far. She has a blue streak in her light blond hair, but other than that, she looks fine.

She is, however, an arrogant toad.

"Well now, Abigail! You are SO lucky to have me as your stylist, because I am the best. A pity I have to work with someone as young as you and someone from District 6, but that's just the way the cookie crumbles. However, for the rest of your short life, you will look fabulous!"

The prep team nod their agreement, uttering statements like "Oh, yes! Victory is the best" and "You're so lucky".

I, however, don't feel lucky. I keep my mouth shut to keep myself from uttering comebacks, and just tone out her bragging. The dress she picked out for me IS pretty, but it's nothing too special. Nothing to brag about, really.

I think about my District partner, Ever. He let his temper get the best of him, and look where that landed him. He has to get babysat. I wonder what Ever would do in this situation.

I also make a note to keep all cupcakes away from him in the future.

*D7, Gadeloth Butcher, 20*

I can tell my stylist and my prep team are afraid of me. This gives me pleasure. People should be afraid of me.

My face is covered with different people's skin. Even this is better than showing my hideous burns. I considered a mask at one point, but that seemed not as exciting. My victims have skin to spare, once they're dead. They won't miss it.

Still, it does give me a rotten smell after a while. This, at least, encourages me to keep taking more victims. In case I needed encouragement.

If the Capitol wants a show, that's what they're going to get.

I'll make sure they never forget this Hunger Games.

*D10 Archie Whitson, 12*

This is the first time in my life I've ever missed my little sister. It's a weird feeling. But, I do. I miss my father too. I wonder if they miss me. Probably. We've been pretty close, ever since Mom's death.

The Capitol is big. Very big. Not as big as District 10, though. I miss my home. A lot. I miss the red rocks and green grass. I miss the cows grassing in the fields. I really miss my dog, Shepp. He's a great cattle dog. The two of us would run for hours, chasing cows and horses, playing tag. He was a great friend.

It dons on me that I'll probably never see him again.

All the feelings just hit me at once. I didn't cry on the train, but I just cry now. Inwardly, I scold myself for being a wimp. I shouldn't be crying. I shouldn't let my prep team see me cry.

It's obviously not the first crybaby these people have seen. The girl, Lydia, gives me a hug. Remi pats my shoulder and Lukas gives me a tissue.

My stylist doesn't speak, but disrespect is in his eyes. "Man up, kid." he tells me. "Nobody who cries wins."

I sniff, but nod. He's right. I need to man up if I'll ever see Shepp again, and my family.

*D10 Robyn Blamina, 17*

I'm going to die.

This, I know.

I don't even bother questioning it.

I let my stylists do whatever they want to me. I don't even care. I feel like a pig being shined up for slaughter. They cut my hair till it's a short bob, and then they put makeup on my face.

I miss my horse, Oynx. He would be some comfort to me, at least. Sigh. I don't think I'll ever see him again.

I hope Jonas gave him an apple for me. He knows how much Oynx loves apples.

*D11 Suzzane Richards, 8*

"Do. You. Hear. ME! YOU STUPID CHILD!" my stylist scolds me. It's a man with weird skin. I can't hear what he's saying. No one told him I was deaf, apparently.

I shake my head to show I can't hear me. His entire face grows red. "Oh, you'll pay for this!" he screams, and then strikes me. It hurts a lot. I scream. I'm pushed back into the chair and I start to cry. There's a red mark on my face from where he hit me.

My mentor, a young woman named Heather, pushes her way into the room. She yells something at the stylist, which makes him blush red. She comes over and picks me up. I sob into her shoulder. The pain in my cheek is too much.

I want to go home, but I can't tell anyone that. I never learned to speak, since I couldn't hear myself. Heather seems to understand, though. "I know, baby. I know." she comforts, quiet;y.

*D12 Ricardo Donahue, 22*

I walk alone into the prep area, since my escort, Hassen, accompanied Razelle. She's a cute child. I like her, although I know she has no chance of escaping the arena. I don't have much, either. I saw the Reapings for all the Districts on the train. Razelle jumped on my lap and fell alseep there. She reminds me so much of my sister, Katie.

I didn't have the heart to wake her up, even though she's supposed to be studying. Hassen and I talked for a while. For a bloke from the Capitol, he's alright. Pretty down to earth. He asked me about my engagement. I told him about Cara.

Cara.

I miss her more and more every minute. I can't believe I was chosen. Our wedding date was so close. Only a week after the Reapings. I doubt it will ever happen, now. I play with her wedding ring, even though it looks strange on my large finger. It barely fits.

I haven't paid much attention to my prep team as they cut my hair and file my nails, until one of them taps me on the shoulder. "Ricardo?" the young woman asks, holding out a black string.

"Sorry." I mumble, afraid she's going to scold me for something.

She smiles a sad smile, and holds out the string. After my confused look, she tells me. "It's for your ring. Wear it around your neck."

I nod. It will be safer, that way, anyway. And I won't loose her ring. I have to make it back to Cara. I have to.

*D12 Razelle Craid, 7*

The Capitol is loud, and I don't like it. My stylist is scary, and keeps yelling at me when I flinch. But she's so weird. I don't like her. Not at all.

I miss my partner, Ricardo. He's like 22, but he's nice to me. He at least looks and smells like home. He said he had a little sister, like me, back at home. He also said he was supposed to be married after the reaping. He kept looking at his wife's engagement ring, which his fiancé gave him to remember her by.

Both he and I cried on the train.

I miss my family. I miss them a lot. I miss my friends and my older brothers. When my name got called, my mom started to cry and plead with the scary men in uniform. Adrian cried too, even though he's 14. Jowan didn't cry, but he looked sad. It made me sad too.

I don't know why, but I don't like this train. Am I going to go home?

I ask one of my prep team members when I get to go home. She just burst into tears. When I asked her why she was crying, she just shook her head and walked away.

**And, there we go! I am SOOOOO glad that's almost over. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Little change of plans. Tributes who didn't get a POV last time shall have next time before training. Others will have some as well. But here's the parade! Oh, I loved doing this! It was so fun to commentate. I released my inner fashion diva.**

**Also, I apologize in advance if your tribute had a terrible outfit. I'm not prejudice, I swear, but I just picked by 1. Districts and 2. Whether or not the tribute would have fought against the stylist (or actually hit them lol). But, I'm pretty sure everyone that wasn't a Career (as the Capitol loves them the most) and even some Careers got at least one snide comment. **

"Welcome, welcome, welcome! We're hear live at the 125th annual Hunger Games Parade! The chariots are getting ready to start. I can hear the horses calling to each other, eagerly awaiting to go. The tributes are fixing their costumes, making sure they look fabulous. Most are on their chariots. Nerves are high. I remember one year there was a tribute, I can't remember the District... but they threw up onto the other tribute. And then there was a fight and..."

The other man in the high rise booth that overlooked the track the chariots would ride cut the fist guy off. "That's enough, Hansel. BUT LOOK! I think the District 1 tributes are just coming out of the gate."

Hansel craned over the seat so he could see. "You're right, Luccan! Well, here we go: Welcome tributes and Panem to the 125th Hunger Games Parade!"

(The rest is in a kind of monologue done by Hansel. Luccan occasionally interrupts, but it will be marked when he talks.)

"Alright ladies and gentleman, all the way up here I can hear the crowds cheering as the beautiful gray horses pull out the chariot for District 1. Oh my, look at the costumes! District 1, always a fairly easy District to style, however, but this year they've had true success. 21-year-old Midas Hackett sports a dark black suit with jewels looking like fire starting from the pants and up. Wow! Even the sleeves have been decorated with red, fire-like jewels. Beside him, and smiling shyly at the crowd, is Nissa Ann Foster. She has a white skirt with blue jewels sparkling all over, with a white top to match. Oh, fire and ice represented in jewels! How beautiful!"

Luccan, next to Hansel, smiled. "I agree. Although, it does seem like with her red hair, Nissa would be more suited to fire. But, they pull it off well."

"Now we have District 2, and everyone's favorites tribute. Oh, well, that's a new twist on District 2. Apparently their stylists got tired as dressing as gods. Ok then, well, I'm not sure it's quite the effect they were looking for. Both tributes look seriously embarrassed, and even their bay horses trot a little faster than usual, as if determined to get out of the lime light. Augustine Paylor looks like he's about to pout with his outfit. A black jumpsuit starts the base of the outfit, but over that there's what appears to be stiff fabric cut into be something similar to be a brick wall. Well, masonry, I guess. Isla looks about to murder someone in her costume, similar to her young District partner. She has no jumpsuit, however, and her legs must be freezing cold. Her dress is cut diagonally, seriously short on the left side, but getting longer on the right. The bottom of her dress is patterned with bricks, and then fades to black. The top, however, is more bricks, climbing up so it looks like a tower. It obscures half her face, but the other half looks very angry. Hope Isla saves some of that for the Games, and I'm sure you do as well, Luccan."

"Ah, here was have something spectacular from the stylists of District 3! I wonder how they managed to do that. Oliver Mullins towers over , even though he's a good 4 or 5 years younger. She's just small, I guess. However, their outfits are beautiful for District 3. Tesla sports a black skirt that blows in the wind, with a pattern of red, blue, and turquoise dots all over the bottom. The top of her dress has a pattern of what looks to be turquoise circuit grids on the top, though it works well for a dress. Olly wears an outfit similar to hers, but his pants look more like exercise-wear. He has the same circuit pattern over the front of his shirt, and he has a cape which bears a similar quality to Tesla's skirt. All in all, a great success, although I'm not sure Olly's cape really fits a 14-year-old."

Luccan nodded. "True, and Telsa's long skirt makes her seem smaller than she really is."

"District 4 coming up, being pulled by their blue roan horses. These horses seem particularly excited, and keep trying to bite each other. However, inside the chariot, things seem great for the tributes. The crowd watches with awe as Emmaline White smiles brightly at the crowd, really almost a little too brightly. But, she looks radiant in an ocean themed dress similar to what a mermaid would wear. However, despite her smile, she looks a little nervous about how much of her body is showing. She has a blue skirt, which in the front barely covers her private area, but lengthens in the back to. I guess it looks a little like an ocean wave. Her front has even less, but two pink seashells cover her breasts. A sash coming from the back of the skirt and connecting to the shells is really all the front the dress has. Her District partner, a tall, good-looking fellow named Arren Cager has just disregarded the shirt all together. He wears a long, skirt-like thing made of green fabric to simulate grass. His boots have little fabric and are held together with straps around the leg. His arms have grass tied around them, weaving up his body. Most stunning are his eyes, which are surrounded a leavy mask. Maybe not the best choice for him, but I speak for the men of the audience when I say I think I like Emmaline."

There was nothing from Luccan except a soft wolf-whistle.

"Here's District 5, pulled by their team of trademark brown-and-white paint horses. And, oh dear, looks like their tributes aren't making a very good impression. Both are dressed in black jumpsuits, a common theme for this year, apparently. Karter looks frankly terrified, while Rowena has a haughty look on their face. Neither of them look at the audience, and their outfits don't cause much of a spectacle, either. Like last year, the only thing different from a plain, black jumpsuit for these tributes are the lines looking like power lines. Rowena's are purple and Karter's are red. But, frankly, I think District 3 pulled that type of outfit off much better."

No comment from Luccan, who was shaking his head at the tributes from District 5.

"Let's hope that District 6 makes a better impression... and no. Their costumes are sort of hideous. A weird shade of navy green in small jumpsuits. The girl's, Abigail, is very small, especially for a 10-year-old child. It barely covers her private area. Draped over her arms are things that look like tracks. Well, ok then. Not I would have gone with for transportation. Abigail's black boots go almost to her thighs. However, despite her outfit, she's smiling and blowing kisses, which the crowd loves. Her fellow tribute, 13-year-old Ever, looks upset about his younger partner stealing the attention. His outfit isn't much better though, with the same color green tunic, tan pants tucked into black boots, and a train track that matches Abigail hanging from his neck and dragging to a few inches above the floor. That's gotta be heavy. Ever has his arms crossed and he's determinedly not looking at Abigail."

Luccan started to laugh. "Doubting they'll be allies!"

"You got that right, Luccan. But, now here comes District 7 and we're hoping they'll stylists will make an impression... and WHAT!? I MEAN FREAKING WHAT THE HECK!? Well, Gadeloth's costume had to be easy to design. Just a red colored maple leaf over his private areas and nothing else. Literally, nothing. Just a maple leave over the front, and one on the back. Well, that's new. Willow's is a little more modest, but still pushing it. She wears a maple leaf style dress, with the end of the leaf at the bottom, about 5 inches above the knee, and the step covering one shoulder at the top. Well, at least it's not trees again."

Laughing harder, Luccan laughs. "It's an impression, that's for sure."

"Back on to District 8, where the chestnut horses are just coming into view. And there are those adorable tributes, the two children, who I believe are both 8. How weird! But, anyhow, don't they look so cute! Little Georgia has on a simple, girly dress. It starts at the color of maroon and fades to purple by the bottom! And look at her little shoes. And, there's Loom. My, doesn't he look handsome in a shirt, much like Georgia's, and little black pants. Oh, I'm dying! After little Abigail in 6 and these two in 8, oh. It's too much."

Luccan nodded, and wiped fake tears away from his eyes.

"And now, onto District 9. Conner King looks pretty happy. He has something that looks like a serape wrapped around the top of his shoulders, but the rest of his torso is bare. He does have the body to pull that off though! His partner, Elinor, has a dress much like a Native America long ago. Her blond hair is braided around her head like a crown and she has a corn stock stuck out of her hair. Well, that's interesting. Both pull it off fairly well, though, and the women can't get enough of Conner. Wow, looks like he and Arren might have some competition."

No comment from Luccan, but he did nod in agreement with Hansel's comment about Arren and Conner.

"District 10 is not be be counted out just yet and... never mind. They're... imitating cows? Well, they're not cowboys, like usual. Archie and Robyn look very embarrassed in their outfits. Robyn sports a strapless cow-print dress that poofs up like a tutu, with several layers of brown fabric to match the brown patches. She has... urg... horns sticking out of her head. Archie also has horns, but they stick out of his cowboy hat. He has a white fringed cowboy suit on with cow-print patches all over the pants. He carries a riding crop, and Robyn has a cowbell around her neck. Poor dears... such terrible costumes."

"Now, we're down to District 11, second to last. Look at those costumes! Jute wears loose, flower-like orange pants, which matches his tunic above. Little Suzzane looks just adorable with a pink dress looking much like a tulip flower. She has a halter top green strap looking much like a stem. She has a tulip in her hair, which is curled and down. Sadly, though, she looks very scared and she's covering her eyes with her hands. Jute isn't scared looking, but he isn't smiling. Maybe he's more of the strong, silent type!"

"Last but not least, we have District 12. Miners, per the norm. But, at least they have some flare this time. Short tunics with barely enough coverage. Black, of course. The stylists have decorated them with actual coal and dimanods on their arms and legs, and they wear hard hats. Despite their outfits, they smile brightly and wave at the crowd. Oh, and look! Ricardo is picking up Razelle and putting her on his shoulders so she has a better view. Luckily, he holds her so she doesn't fall off. That's touching."

Luccan speaks, finally. "Well, there you have it folks! The tributes from the 125th annual Hunger Games. We welcome them, and wish them luck! May the odds be ever in your favor, and goodnight Panem!"

**TADA! :) **


End file.
